Micah's notes, he argued, could be mistaken.
The original settlement was gone.
And the passage of time made the claims difficult to resolve.
Some of those concerns were legitimate.
Old evidence required careful examination.
But Calder seemed determined to prevent that examination rather than participate in it.
When Whitcomb requested the company's original supporting records, Pritchard said they weren't available for private inspection.
Whitcomb nodded.
"Then the appropriate process will determine what must be produced."
Calder leaned backward.
For a moment, he studied Josephine.
Then spoke in a softer voice.
"Miss Wren, you don't have to involve yourself in a dispute that began before you understood what land was."
She smiled faintly.
"My father understood."
Calder's eyes narrowed.
She continued.
"And I inherited his records."
He looked toward me.
For the first time, his polished confidence began slipping.
Then he said quietly.
"Some old matters are better left buried."
My chest tightened.
I thought of Eliza.
Thomas Wren.
And the families who lost everything after the fire.
For a moment, anger threatened to overwhelm me.
Then Josephine reached for my hand.
I held it.
And let Whitcomb speak.
"The records will be submitted for review," the lawyer said. "That's our position."
Calder stared.
Then stood.
The meeting was over.
But the dispute was only beginning.
Two nights after the meeting, somebody tried to enter our room at the boardinghouse.
I woke to the sound of metal scraping against the lock.
The lamp had burned low.
Josephine was asleep on the broad bed, and the corridor beyond the door was quiet.
At first, I thought the noise came from another guest.
Then I heard it again.
Deliberate.
Careful.
I rose without lighting the room and approached the door.
"Who's there?"
The scraping stopped.
For several seconds, there was silence.
Then footsteps moved rapidly down the corridor.
I opened the door and saw a man disappearing around the staircase.
I didn't chase him.
Leaving Josephine alone in an unfamiliar building to pursue a stranger would have been foolish.
Instead, I woke Mrs. Bell and asked whether anyone had been authorized to enter our room.
She was furious.
"No one in this establishment has any reason to touch your door after midnight."
We examined the lock.
Someone had damaged it.
The attempt suggested that our papers might be attracting more attention than we'd realized.
Fortunately, Whitcomb had already placed the original survey and several important records in secure custody for examination.